We are like salmon, swimming back upstream;
Leaping against waterfalls that thwart,
Cut and bruised; but strong; our only dream
Return to source; no thought save source of thought;
And in that fight, our iron age turns to bronze,
And we to heroes, in a war of soul,
As nature seeks the nature it had once;
Though wholly lost, remembering the whole.
We silver salmon, sparkling as the sun
Shines on our fierce and loving enterprise:
To rear our children where the world is one;
The source remembered, nature's greatest prize.
The golden age is ageless in its gleam
And we, like salmon, swimming back upstream.

To Music

When all the words -- said yet again -- fall dead,
And all the thoughts, that sound so secondhand,
So stale and flat, unprofitable seem,
I turn to listening to that inner sound:
That music, like a fountain murmuring,
Forever present; ever fresh and new;
The glorious reassurance that within
This outward crust, a ceaseless self creates
A song of joy that never ends, nor stales:
To capture this, a genius may succeed;
The rest of us - oh joy ! - can never fail:
If to that inner music we pay heed.
That fountain is the sound of our true self;
The song that sings to life, eternal wealth.

The Music Room

Into this quiet room; with sweet relief
The sense of oneness with oneself returns;
The glorious, restless world no longer thief
Through thought, of all that for that oneness yearns;
And now, in peace, outside the window shine
All God's specifics; all His passing show,
Now from this peace, seen as a play divine;
All restlessness now gone; time, ever now;
And in this heavenly peace, the heart's laid bare
In all its nature, born from heaven above:
A nature that with all its all may share;
Since in reality, that heart is Love.
O, that self-education thus might bring
To all who thirst, love's ceaseless single spring.